Be Still My Heart
by Cherie Dennis
Summary: You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut... The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one." George centric. T for language. Not a happy story. Possibly two or three parter.
1. Part One: Don't Hold Your Breath

**Don't Hold Your Breath  
**

Title: Don't Hold Your Breath.

Author: Cherie Dennis.

Summary: "You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut... The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."

Rating: T, for language.

Pairings: None.

Disclaimer: It's got a lot of the "f-bomb" in it and it's not a happy story. Other than that, nadda.

**Author's Note: **This is (more than likely) going to end up a two or three part story. Therefore, it's not finished just yet.

* * *

"No fucking way," George said as she looked at the sticky note. "This isn't fucking fair! I can't do this," she practically screamed, throwing the sticky note back at Rube. It didn't go far and she watched, wide-eyed, as it fluttered back down to the table. It seemed to sit there, mocking her, as if it were a living thing. She repressed the urge to crumple it up, to burn it, to throw it away. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned back in the booth, fighting the tears that so badly wanted to fall.

Rube barely moved. The only change in his appearance was a slight height difference in his eyebrows. "Death is death, Peanut," he said softly. "We don't get to choose who dies." He pushed the sticky note towards her, watching as she turned her head like a stubborn child.

"No," she said, feeling the tears getting closer to the surface. "I can't. Not this one. Give me any other sticky note. Give me the Pope for all I fucking care, just **not this one**." She looked away, would've completely turned away if she wasn't stuck in the booth next to Daisy.

Mason leaned across the table and tilted his head somewhat, trying to read the name on the note. His view was obstructed by Roxie's hand slamming down on top of it; she'd been playing Rube's Right-Hand-Man more than normal lately and it was driving him crazy. "It's none of your business," she said, answering the question written across his face. He too pouted and leaned back against the back of the booth.

"Peanut," Rube said, his voice growing softer and somehow sterner. "I wouldn't give this to you if I thought you couldn't handle it."

She glared up at him through her tears, letting them fall down her cheeks silently now. "Fuck. You." The threat, despite the raw sound to her voice, was thick and angry and hurt. "I can't do this."

The other reapers were silent, as they had been through most of it, but Daisy finally spoke up; "Rube, maybe she's not ready for this. Maybe I should do it for her," she said, reaching for the sticky note. Her hand instantly dropped to the table when Rube looked up at her, and then it recoiled back into her lap. She looked down at her untouched dinner, pretending that nothing had happened.

"You know what happens if we don't take souls, or if we interfere with the appointments, Peanut," he said. He got up and pulled his jacket on, tossing some money onto the table from his wallet. "The choice is yours, but you'd better make the right one."

George watched him walk away, wishing she could burn holes in the back of his jacket. After a bit, when Mason wouldn't stop bouncing, she stood up and grabbed her jacket, shoving it on roughly. "Georgie?" Mason asked, sounding all too like a small, excited puppy. "Want me to go with you?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice enough to actually speak, and grabbed the sticky note.

As she walked out of Der Waffle Haus, she re-read the name, her blood boiling just as hot as when she first read it. She couldn't do this. What the fuck made Rube decide to make her do something this screwed up? She slammed the door to her convertible, expecting the skies to open up and rain all over her. That's what would happen in the movies; the rain would come and she'd drive off, soaked to the bone as she cried her eyes out.

But this wasn't a movie. This was her life, or after life, whatever the hell they called it, and she had a job to do. As George pulled out of the parking lot and started driving towards the house she grew up in, she focused on detaching herself emotionally, ignoring the fact that it wasn't working. If only she could somehow warn them what was coming, give them some sign. But that was interference, and even though she loved her family more than she ever thought possible, she couldn't mess with fate like that. So she'd go to her old house, take the soul and leave.

Hopefully she could give the soul some sense of peace, and they'd know that George was okay now, that there was nothing to worry about anymore.

Hopefully.


	2. Part Two: Reunion

**Reunion  
**

Title: Reunion.

Author: Cherie Dennis.

Summary: Being apart had a way of showing you the big changes happened bit by bit and if you weren't there every day, you'd miss something and things would be nowhere near how you'd left it.

Rating: T, for language and character death.

Pairings: None.

Disclaimer: Character death, angst, sadness, etc. Second part to _Don't Hold Your Breath._

**Author's Note: **It's pretty much completely AU.

* * *

George stood in the bathroom, that old familiar room that hadn't changed much since she'd last used it back when she was alive, and stared at the bathtub. It was porcelain white and she could remember taking showers there, the water beating down on her back. But she wasn't there to shower; she was there, waiting for the person to die. It had taken a lot longer than she would've thought, a lot longer than the movies led you to believe, and she started wondering why someone would slit their wrists. It was bloody, painful (she imagined) and rather slow; at least pills were painless.

She touched the smooth porcelain of the sink, remembering brushing her teeth every morning after her mom woke up her. She could remember glaring into the mirror as she brushed her hair, angry that she had to face another day. Now she missed that; the sound of her mom rudely waking her up because she was late, the feel of her old bed. You'd think, after a few years, she would've gotten over her life but George found herself almost daily thinking about what-was and what-could-have-been.

She looked in the mirror, watching her little sister in the bathtub. There was a final breath, and then the soul came out, startled and confused. George stepped away from the mirror; she couldn't let Reggie see her face for as long as she could manage it.

"What happened?"

It was the same voice she'd heard so much, but it had changed; which was to be expected, George assumed, when they'd missed so much time together. Being apart had a way of showing you the big changes happened bit by bit and if you weren't there every day, you'd miss something and things would be nowhere near how you'd left it.

"You died," she said quietly, ignoring the tears that burned behind her eyes. "If you don't believe me, your body's over there, in the tub."

Reggie turned around, looking down at her lifeless body in the tub and she frowned. She didn't think she'd actually be able to go through with it. "Who are you?"

George took in a breath and lifted her head, looking into the mirror again; past her reflection to she could see Reggie. The soul looked up, her eyes widening as she saw the real identity of the woman who'd tripped and fallen outside her house twenty minutes ago. "George?" The question was soft, timid, scared. She nodded and turned to face her sister, hating the fact that they'd come back together just before she moved on, went to Heaven, crossed over. Whatever the fuck they called it.

Reggie broke her focus long enough to glance back at her body, the limp limbs and the red blood pooling at the bottom of the tub, slowly making its way towards the drain. The contrast of the darkness against the white amazed her for a moment, the blood so dark and thick that for a moment she didn't think it was real.

"Why..." She looked back to George, her eyebrows pulled together in question. "How?"

"I'm a grim reaper," George whispered, fighting her emotions for control over her voice. She said this all the time; explained who she was and what was going to happen next. But for some reason, knowing the person who died made it too hard. She wanted to tell Reggie that she would be okay, that they'd be able to stay together, but she knew she couldn't promise that. "I took your soul before you died so you wouldn't feel anything. You're supposed to move on now."

Reggie shook her head defiantly. She finally had her sister back and she'd be damned if she had to give her up once again. "No," she said, enforcing the answer.

George sighed and looked away, ignoring the tear that slid down her cheek. "Reggie, you can't stay. You have to move on." She looked down at her hands, picked at her thumb nail just so she wouldn't have to see her sister's face anymore. It was too hard; what made Rube think she was ready for this?

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't lose you. And what about mom and dad?"

George shook her head, "You have to. You have to move on, cross over. Mom and dad will deal. They'll find your body, they'll have a funeral. At least they'll have your body in one piece," she said, her eyes lifting to see her sister. Reggie moved forward, opening her arms to hug George which was something they'd never done when George was alive, but the younger girl just passed through her body.

"You have to go, Reggie," she said softly.

The light filled the small bedroom and George glanced up, looking at the dog that she could never be able to touch, wagging its tail and barking at Reggie. As she passed, she looked at her older sister and gave her a timid, watery smile. "I love you, George," she said. "Keep an eye on mom and dad."

George nodded, watching the light and her sisters fade, finally allowing herself to break down. She slid to the floor and covered her face, letting the sobs echoing around her in the empty bathroom. She stayed like that until she heard the door open and her mother call Reggie's name out.

She left the bathroom and raced to her old room, crawling out the window before she could hear her mother's scream.


	3. Part Three: In Memoriam

**In Memoriam  
**

Title: In Memoriam.

Author: Cherie Dennis.

Summary: Bitter, angry tears fell down George's cheeks, but she couldn't look away; there was her family, so close and yet so far.

Rating: T, for language.

Pairings: Slight hints of George/Mason.

Disclaimer: It's not a happy story, really.

**Author's Note: **Third and final part to "Be Still My Heart." Unless I randomly feel like adding more "chapters".

* * *

She wasn't supposed to be there. Rube had made it clear time and time and time again that she wasn't supposed to interfere with her old life. She wasn't supposed to make her presence known by them or they'd become suspicious. "He'll kill you if he finds out, Georgie," Mason had said an hour ago in the car, driving her to the cemetery. She'd skipped the actual funeral, but she didn't think she could miss the burial. Even if she had to hide behind some over-sized tree. Besides, Rube had to have known this was coming when he'd given her that damn sticky note.

The crumpled sticky note, bent and folded with anger-filled creases, that she hadn't been able to throw away. The stupid little yellow square, taunting her with "R. Lass" written in Rube's normal handwriting, as if it was just some random accident on the street and not George's sister's suicide. She wanted to hurt, to punch a wall or shove her fist through a large, thick glass window, but she wouldn't hurt for long enough; the physical pain would be gone long before she could even get the sight of her sister's cold, dead body in the bathtub out of her head.

She wanted to scream, too. She could right then and there, with Mason standing beside her, clutching her hand. She wasn't sure if he was squeezing her hand hard or vice versa, but it was making her knuckles ache. She appreciated the distraction, but it wasn't enough to make her forget why they were at the cemetery. About fifteen feet away, right next to the grave she'd been given, her mother stood watching as Reggie's casket was lowered into the ground. Bitter, angry tears fell down George's cheeks, but she couldn't look away; there was her family, so close and yet so far. She couldn't even walk up and offer a hug, tell them how sorry she was for their loss.

It was just Joy and Clancy now, and George was surprised to see her mother practically fall into her father's embrace. They'd been divorced for so long now that the natural, easy way her father rubbed Joy's back attempting to offer some sort of comfort shocked her. She understood needing the comfort, though, because that's what Mason was to her; a place she could run and get the help she needed, the protective boundary between her and whatever harmed her. He'd become her lifeline and, as she stood watching her parents grieve over the loss of their second and last child, she squeezed his hand a little harder.

She ignored the way her father glanced over, and how okay he seemed; she knew, deep down, he missed Reggie. It wasn't like they'd drifted apart when she was younger and she stopped spending time with him, stopped going for breakfast on Sunday mornings. George ignored the ever-too-familiar pang of guilt that surged through her stomach, never letting her eyes leaving her sister's final resting place. She prayed, though she never had before, that Reggie would be okay now, would be happy up in Heaven or whatever the fuck it was, playing around with JD. She hoped that her little sister would be able to go on without her and know that, someday, they'd be together again and George would make everything right.

The way that Joy and Clancy grabbed each tossed a long stemmed rose onto the casket, then grabbed a handful of dirt and dropped it there as well, made George slightly glad she didn't have to be a part of this. The over-used traditions that were only there to give a piece of mind to the living (that didn't really work) weren't her cup of tea. Sure, she was a little jealous, but that didn't mean anything. She preferred being on the side lines, watching her family's life go on without her. Right?

Mason turned to face her then, and she finally broke her gaze. Her tears were still streaming down her face, silent and hurt, as she looked up into his eyes. "They'll be okay, Georgie," he said. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he kissed the top of her head. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes, but George couldn't think of a place she'd rather be right then. "I promise," he whispered.


End file.
